The Velvet and The Serpents
by Emma Ockham
Summary: Laura Roslin's hallucination about Pythia's twelve serpents has a kinky resolution when she is back in her quarters. Bill Adama is at a loss. PWP. Plot what plot. Smut. Warning: might be shocking.


BSG_kink prompt: The Velvet and the Serpents  
Laura/solo or choice - she has a strange reaction to that particular vision

Warning: implied snake/tentacle smut hallucination

* * *

The trouble with having your office this close to the press briefing room, was that if snakes appeared on your podium while you spoke about tylium shortages, there was no way of escaping them when they followed you home.

They were hallucinations, of course. Laura knew they were, because Commander Adama, who had been waiting for her as she strode back into her office, didn't even blink when the battalion of serpents followed her in.

Not that blinking was something he often did, Adama.

Not-screaming was _her_ main accomplishment right now, as the dozen slid over the carpet in her direction.

Sitting down in one of the low chairs was out of the question. She'd have the front runners up her legs in no time, so she perched on her desk, despite the fact Adama seemed to see that as a cheap trick to gain the higher ground in their discussion.

She ignored the twitch of Adama's lips, but concentrated on how the red snakes were out-slithering the other ones in their race for the desk, and asked, as if the issue still had her full attention:

"Are there any new results from the search teams, Commander?"

Through the answering drone of his voice, she wondered what serpents ate.

Surely, if they were hungry, Adama would be the better target. She nodded. Yes, he would. They gave the commander's feet a wide berth, however, apart from a cute little white one with adorable dark eyes. It trailed at the end of the troop and took the short route over Adama's right shoe to keep up with the larger ones.

She silently cheered it on, realizing the Chamalla was by no means out of her system, and she shut up abruptly when the head of the largest one, with its irregular shaped orange and red markings, emerged above the desk.

"Oh!"

She tried not to squeal when it slithered up her arm, and closed her eyes to block it from view. It didn't stop the sensation of its smooth mass circling her arm, approaching her neck, her face.

She couldn't possibly start brushing off nonexistent serpents in front of the Commander. She may have made a sound though, because when she opened her eyes, Adama had come a step closer.

"Madam President?"

The snake had curled itself around her arm and raised its head, until it was only inches from hers. It flitted its tongue at her, its many-colored scales glistening, its slit pupils taking her in as if trying to hypnotize her. Possibly it was just trying to distract her from the others that were climbing up her pants. The smaller black and red ones over the naked flesh of her legs, others already sliding over her jacket and blouse, looking for an opening between buttons, displaying absolutely no sense of propriety and personal space, pressing themselves against her flesh as unreservedly as a Piconese masseur.

She bit back a wail, trying to steady her breathing.

 _They are not real, they are not - ._

The cute little white one had finally reached her chest too. He cast her a triumphant and insinuating look with its deep dark eyes, before it slithered down her decolleté into her blouse and started moving over her breasts, using her bra for leverage to exert pressure against her soft skin. Her nipples hardened almost immediately.

Laura shuddered, and tried to cap the sob that welled up in her.

.

* * *

.

Bill saw her eyes grow wide and wild, as if she was shocked and aroused at the same time, ready to bolt. He assessed what he'd said about the tylium search. Nothing that warranted this reaction.

She closed her eyes, swayed precariously and shuddered, vulnerable and fragile.

"Madam President?"

She reached for him like she was drowning and he stepped a bit closer, transfixed.

When he took her outstretched hand, she opened her eyes, her pupils almost swallowing her sea- green irises. Her upper body wavered in a jerky fashion, as though an invisible force was affecting her chest at unexpected intervals.

"Please," she muttered weakly.

A sudden shudder ran up her spine. She gasped. Her eyes flew open and she almost came free from the table's surface, like it was on fire, shifting in her pants. "O Gods," she panted, "O gods. Not there."

Her distress was so palpable he stepped closer.

"Madam President?" He lifted her chin to search her expression.

"Ngnn," she answered, her eyes half-hooded, not really seeing him, concentrating inward.

She gulped in air in small frantic sips seeming to be fighting a sweltering wave somewhere in her body, leaving her thrashing, shivering, like a pilot with burn wounds waiting for the medic and trying to keep it together for his comrades.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

She drove her teeth in the back of her hand, stifling an anguished wail, riding an upsurge that seemed to start at her very center. It was all the answer he needed. She was in pain. He reached out and let his hand slide over the side of her head, slowly caressing her coppery waves, making small shushing sounds, trying to sooth her out of - whatever it was.

She locked her eyes with him and clung onto his gaze as if there was a bridge between them and it held her only hope of survival.

The shudders of her body traveled through his hand and he stepped between her legs to snuck an arm around her torso, trying to stop her from quivering uncontrollably.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a relieved sob.

This was his president, the schoolteacher that had proved to be steadfast through all their predicaments, a woman with a sense of duty that was only matched by his own, and she was coming apart at the seams. He should have known it hadn't been allergies that drove her to visit Sick Bay.

"Shall I call for Cottle?" he asked.

She muttered a muffled 'no' against his collar, her body writhed, undulated against him, as if in the throes of passion. Pain did strange things to bodies.

Oh.

His body reacted to the unreserved way she pressed herself against him, and he hated himself for it.

She must have felt it too because she lifted her head and looked up at him. Her eyes dark, lips a surprised circle, her cheeks flushed.

He'd overstepped more boundaries faster than he remembered doing since he was fourteen. He opened his mouth to apologize, but he saw something in her eyes break, fall away, and he knew she knew and that it was okay. So he just held her while she clung to him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, riding out the waves that crashed over her in growing intensity, her breathing ragged, until she went limp against him, suddenly boneless.

He caught her before she could slide to the ground. Her eyes were closed, but he found her heartbeat thumping under his fingertip. He held her, waiting for her to come out of it, stroking her hair, not giving in to the strange urge to press his lips against the top of her head.

Eventually, she sighed, snuggled closer, and seemed to fall asleep against his chest.

"Madam President?"

"Mm-m."

Bill scooped her up and carried her to the curtain behind which he assumed was her bed.


End file.
